


until my silk is sold

by problematic_pleasures



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: M/M, UST, character inspection, little to no dialogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 01:32:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8824876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/problematic_pleasures/pseuds/problematic_pleasures
Summary: anonymous requested a fic where negan struggles with his lust for carl





	

Some days, it just _hits_ him—landing like a brick to the face or a well-aimed right hook, makes him dizzy and tongue-tied for longer than he’d really care to admit.

Some days, he doesn’t think about it at all.

 

 

When Carl sits there, silently crying with his biggest secret exposed, a crack starts in the center of Negan’s chest. He well and truly thinks the mangled eye is badass, that it gives Carl even more ammunition to be fucking _incredible_. He didn’t mean to make the kid cry…

Okay, that’s a lie. He’d been hoping the kid would cry, but now faced with the actual crumpled look on Carl’s face, well… Negan’s apology is genuine as he can make it; his heart pounds with regret. The feeling is foreign, bleeds into nausea churning in his gut.

Carl Grimes is just a kid. Negan says so himself.

 

 

When Carl sasses him, tongue sharp and quick, Negan forgets.

He forgets age, taboos, hell he could even almost forget about the god damn apocalypse happening around them.

When Carl stares him down with that single eye, defiance radiating from every single pore of his being—Negan could swear he feels something like love.

When Carl laughs at him, when Carl is unafraid, when Carl takes a knife to his throat without blinking…

Negan forgets, and he _lusts_. He wants, so much so. He wants to devour Carl—to be devoured _by_ Carl. He wants to pick his brains and figure out how the hell ‘Carl Grimes’ came to be.

When he catches Carl staring at him, Negan forgets. He winks, instead, licks his lips for show. Heat burns through him like a forest fire the heavier Carl’s stare becomes.

When Carl puts a hand on Negan’s chest and tilts his head up invitingly, Negan remembers again.

 

He watches Carl and Rick fight, finds himself wishing he had some popcorn. It’s quite the show, really. He’s made himself comfortable in a pretty nice armchair and watches as Carl screams loud enough for the windows to rattle. Rick grows mousier and mousier and Carl seems to almost loom over him, towering. Negan tunes out the words, instead content to listen to the melodic rhythm of a good verbal spat.

He only comes back to himself when Rick is stomping off, when Carl’s whole body seems to deflate. He watches Carl slink back to the couch and practically collapse into the cushions. He doesn’t say anything when Carl starts to cry, wouldn’t know what to say especially since he didn’t hear a damn word of the argument. He watches until Carl’s crying dissolves into restrained hiccups.

He holds out a hand to Carl and pulls the kid close against his side as they leave. He rubs the ball of Carl’s shoulder, even goes to far as to ruffle Carl’s hair to wring a smile from the poor boy.

It works, though. The image burns into Negan’s mind like a brand, and god he’s not sure he can ever forget that Carl Grimes is barely more than a kid.

 

 

He can’t make himself stop caring, can’t make himself stop thinking about it. For all the shit he’s done, this is something that nags at him endlessly. He could murder swarms of people and not bat an eye but this…it’s nearly too much.

 

 

It’s the middle of the night when Carl apparently gets sick of waiting. Negan is sitting on his couch, making notes in his journal until a slender and pale hand yanks the book from his grasp. Carl tosses the journal aside and reaches for Negan’s pen next.

Stunned, Negan only watches. He let Carl touch him, lets Carl clamber into his lap and _that’s_ when he realizes the boy is shirtless and his dick is hard. He lets Carl reach out and take his hands, lets Carl bring Negan’s grip to his ass. Negan can’t breathe, overwhelmed by the delicate touch of Carl’s long hair brushing against his skin while their bodies start to move together.

It’s not enough and too much all at once. The jeans are thick, obstructing, but the little noises Carl makes have Negan from zero to sixty real fucking quick. He gropes Carl’s ass tighter, pulls him closer, ruts up against him harder. He talks, low and sultry to Carl and admires the blush that takes over the pale, delicate skin. He whispers all the things he’s been thinking since Carl Grimes waltzed his way out of the truck and took down two of his men.

Carl comes first, moaning and gasping and pleading.

He’s so small in Negan’s lap, in Negan’s arms. Heat rolls off his body in waves and Negan wants to drown in the sensation. Negan growls and lurches forward to kiss Carl. He kisses Carl hard, sucks on his tongue and bites at his lips. He kisses Carl until the boy is trembling in his lap again, cock stiff once more.

Negan rolls them over, pressing Carl into the couch. He slots himself between Carl’s thighs and the pose is nothing new for Negan—he’s rubbed off on plenty of people before. But he’s mesmerized with the way Carl’s hair fans out across the cushion, the way his pale skin marred by a blush looks so innocence against the dark leather of the couch. Carl’s good eye is wide and pupil dilated, lips wet and mouthing Negan’s name like a prayer.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, boy,” Negan warns, almost fearful for how true those words are.  


End file.
